Nurses Are Angels in Comfortable Shoes
by BroadwayBaggins
Summary: Pediatric nurse Sybil Crawley finds herself charmed by young cancer patient Lucie...and her enigmatic father, Tom Branson. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

_"Nurses are angels in comfortable shoes" —Unknown_

"Sybil, I need you."

Sybil looked up from her coffee and her stack of charts to see her co-worker, Edna, staring at her impatiently. "What's the problem?" she asked immediately, getting to her feet, ready to jump into whatever situation apparently needed her help.

Edna shook her head and rolled her eyes. "This patient's father is asking for a new nurse to draw her blood. Apparently I'm not doing it well enough or some rubbish like that. He's insisting I find someone else to do it for me."

Sybil furrowed her brow in confusion. "Were you having trouble finding a vein?" she asked, trying to keep her voice delicately. Edna was new to the pediatrics ward and might not be sure of the way things worked yet, but Sybil didn't want the nurse to misunderstand and think that she was doubting her ability to do her job.

Another eye roll. "The kid's got toothpicks for veins. So yes. And we've got a major case of helicopter parent going on. He said that he and his daughter have a "two-stick rule" and that if a nurse can't get a vein in two pokes, they get someone else. Rubbish if you ask me."

Now she understood. Sybil nodded, more sympathetic towards the patient and her father than to Edna. "A lot of parents have that rule. It's a like a deal they make with their children, to make the whole hospital process easier for them. You see it especially with young ones, and cancer patients who need to have lots of bloodwork done. Who's the patient?"

Edna faltered a moment. Sybil's opinion of the women plummeted as well. Forgetting a patient's name was one of the worst things a nurse could do in her book. "Lucie," she said finally. "Lucie Branson. Six. Non-Hodgkins lymphoma."

Sybil winced. "Poor thing," she said softly. "Is Elsie around?" Elsie Hughes, Sybil's boss, was the head pediatric nurse and a favorite among both patients and parents. But Edna shook her head.

"She's off today, remember? Come on, Sybil. I can't go back in there. The dad's not so bad, honest—unless you can't live up to his standards."

"Okay. I'll do it. Would you like to observe?" Sybil's tone was casual, but pointed. Edna didn't take the hint.

"Nah, I'm starving. I'm going to hit up the cafeteria quick. Want anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Sybil said quickly. Edna shrugged and handed Sybil the girl's chart before walking towards the staircase. Sybil double-checked the patient's room number before making her way down their, knocking lightly on the doorframe to announce her entrance. A broad-shouldered man she assumed was the patient's father immediately stood up, looking anxious. In the bed, wearing a robe with Queen Elsa from _Frozen_ on it, was a pale little girl with light brown hair that matched her father's. She looked pale and tiny lying in the bed, and Sybil wondered if her short hair—just below her chin—was a fashion statement or the process of growing out hair after chemo. "Hi. I'm Sybil," she said softly, holding out her hand towards the father.

"Tom Branson," he said by way of greeting, shaking her hand.

"And this must be Lucie," Sybil continued, prompting the tiniest of smiles from the girl. "I heard we were having a bit of trouble finding a vein."

"It was taking too long, and Lucie was getting upset," Tom said immediately. "What's our rule, Lucie?"

"Two sticks," Lucie said obediently.

"Exactly. And that nurse, Edna, just wasn't listening. That's my daughter's arm, not a dart board."

"I understand. We don't want this to hurt anymore than it has to, right, Lucie?" The girl nodded emphatically, and Sybil smiled. "Let's just take a look…did Nurse Edna explain how all of this works?"

Lucie shook her head, and Sybil smiled. Sometimes, explaining to a kid exactly what was going to happen was just the thing they needed to calm them down. Over the next twenty minutes. Sybil explained what the butterfly kit did and exactly how the blood was going to be drawn, and what they were going to do with it after. When she finally got the needle in (in one try), she had Lucie happily chatting about Frozen and so distracted she hardly even felt it (though Sybil did notice her squeeze her father's hand).

"There we go, Lucie, you're all done. I'll just get this sent off to the lab. You were so brave, you know—you and your daddy both." She smiled and winked at Tom.

"Can you be my nurse all the time?" Lucie asked. "I like you better. Can she, daddy?"

Tom glanced between Sybil and his daughter. "I don't know, love. We'll have to wait and see."

"I'll see what I can do," Sybil said quickly. She had taken a shining to this sweet girl and her father, and she was reluctant to leave them already and return to her other patients. "How does that sound?"

"Okay!" Lucie said happily. "Daddy, can I have a juicebox?"

"Of course, love. I'll be right back."

Tom followed Sybil out of the room, sighing in relief. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you so much for understanding."

"I've met a lot of parents in your situation, Mr. Branson. Believe me, I've seen it all. You've got a very brave girl in there."

"Believe me, I know it." He glanced back at his daughter, pride shining in his eyes. Sybil was suddenly aware of how striking they were…

"It must be hard," she ventured softly. He nodded. "Has your wife—"

His jaw clenched just slightly. "She's not in the picture."

Now things were starting to make sense in Sybil's mind. "I see. I'm sorry."

"No, it's better this way. But it can be hard sometimes, going it alone."

Sybil smiled, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. He looked up at her. "Well, you're not alone now. I'm on your side, Mr. Branson. Whatever you and Lucie need, I'll be ready to fight your corner. I promise."

Tom smiled—the first genuine, relaxed smile she had seen from him so far. "Thank you…Sybil."


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next week, Sybil managed to get herself switched over to being Lucie Branson's nurse. She timed her request well, just as one of the patients she had been seeing was discharged and there was an opening on her service. Elsie Hughes was more than happy to make the switch—Sybil wondered if Mr. Branson's complaint about Edna wasn't the first—and apart from a few frosty glances from Edna, there were no ramifications that Sybil could see. She spent her time between patients getting to know the sweet little girl and her father, both in terms of Lucie's care and more personal things. She knew what Lucie's favorite movies were (_Frozen_ and _An American Tail_), what her favorite color was (purple, obviously) and that she liked the orange creamsicle lollipops best. She knew that Lucie hated needles and needed to be talked through every blood draw and IV, that she liked to fiddle with the wire on the heart monitor on her index finger when she was nervous, and that she still tired easily, even months after her chemo treatments had ended. Lucie had been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma when she was four and a half, and had been in remission for the past seven months.

At least, so they hoped.

Lymphoma was a resilient cancer, and sometimes a brief respite was the best a patient could hope for. Regular checkups would be required for the rest of Lucie's life to make sure that it didn't rear its ugly head once again. That was why Lucie was here at the hospital now, getting new blood work and CT scans to make sure that everything was still fine. Tom had noticed a few of her original symptoms making a recurrence—which wasn't necessarily a sign of the cancer recurring—and everyone wanted to be sure that all was as it should be. Sybil knew Lucie's case inside and out by the fourth day tending to her.

But there was still so much she didn't know about this father and daughter that had managed to capture her heart so quickly. She wasn't sure why Tom was so reluctant to talk about the girls' mother in front of her, even when Sybil had asked for a family history. She hardly knew anything about Tom, except that he was a freelance writer (a career that meant he could work from home, he'd explained to Sybil) but before Lucie's diagnosis he had worked for a local paper. He was Irish, but Lucie's English accent pointed to a London birth, which intrigued Sybil as well. More than once found herself sneaking glances at Tom Branson when she should have been scribbling down notes in Lucie's chart. She wasn't sure why she was so determined to get to know him, but he had sparked some seed of curiosity in her that was clearly not going away any time soon.

Lucie was a remarkably bright girl, rarely showing fear once she'd been told how something worked. Sybil grinned at her as she came out of the CT room, a smile stretched wide across the little girl's face. "You're a pro at this, Lucie."

"Daddy read to me!" Lucie crowed happily. "It helps me stay still if I'm listening to him read."

"And what are we reading?" Sybil asked.

Tom held up a worn copy of _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_. "I thought some of it might go over her head, but I should have known better. She loves it." He smiled and set the book on Lucie's lap as they began to wheel her back towards her room.

"The main character has the same name as me!" Lucie explained happily. "It's spelled differently though. I always have to spell my name for people."

"I have to do that sometimes too," Sybil confided. "But it's okay, I like having a unique name, you know?"

"Yeah!"

"My ex was a big fan of Charles Dickens," Tom explained. Sybil looked at him in surprise. It was the first time he'd ever voluntarily offered up information on Lucie's mother. "Me too, actually. Lucie's named after Lucie Manette in A Tale of Two Cities. We're waiting until she's a little bit older to tackle that one, aren't we, Luce?"

They'd made it back to Lucie's room, and Tom lifted his daughter up and settled her back into bed. Lucie yawned widely, and Sybil smiled. "How about you take a nap, kiddo?" she asked gently. "Just for a little while."

Lucie thought a moment, biting her lip to stifle another yawn. Sybil noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and her heart hurt. "Okay," Lucie said finally. "But can you read to me first?"

"Of course, darling," Tom said instantly, but Lucie shook her head.

"I want Nurse Sybil to read, Daddy."

Sybil blinked, surprised. "Are you sure?"

Lucie nodded. Sybil looked to Tom, who shook his head with a smile and gestured for her to pick up the book. Sybil opened it up, smiling at the Winnie the Pooh bookmark, and continued reading from where Tom had left off.

It took less than a chapter for Lucie to drift off, her face calm and her breathing steady. Sybil carefully marked the page, and she and Tom spent a moment simply gazing at the sleeping child.

"Thank you," Tom said finally. "For making this such an easy transition for us. Lucie adores you."

"She's a great kid, Tom," Sybil said immediately. She grinned. "She makes all the hard work seem easy."

Tom sighed. "If only it were that easy." There was so much love in his eyes as he looked down at his sleeping daughter that part of Sybil wondered if she should excuse herself and leave. She felt almost as if she was intruding.

But instead, what came out of her mouth was, "Would you like to get a cup of coffee?"

Tom looked at her, seemingly taken aback. "I—what?"

"I mean, it's just crappy hospital coffee," Sybil said quickly. "But I just thought if you wanted to…talk…we could. Lucie will be just fine. My friend Gwen is on duty tonight and she can page me the minute we're needed."

Tom considered a moment, and Sybil felt her cheeks begin to redden. Maybe this had been a stupid idea. People were always telling her she got too emotionally involved with her patients…had she crossed over a line?

"Sure," Tom said, startling her out of her thoughts. "Coffee would be great."


	3. Chapter 3

They left Lucie dozing in her hospital bed and made their way down to the cafeteria, Sybil making sure that she would be paged the second that Lucie or one of her other patients needed her. The sun was just beginning to set as they entered the cafeteria, the fluorescent lighting humming above their heads. The cafeteria was mostly deserted at this time of night, too late for dinner but too early for the first late-night rush, with only two rather haggard-looking families and a couple at a table in the corner picking at their limp salads. Sybil was about to volunteer to get the coffee, but Tom surprised her, heading over to fetch two cups as if he'd done it a thousand times before. But then again, Sybil realized guiltily, she supposed he had. Lucie's previous two rounds of chemo had been long and grueling, and Tom no doubt knew the hospital in and out by now.

They sat with their milky coffee in their hands, both of them feeling slightly out of place. Sybil was no stranger to dealing with parents of patients, but Tom felt different somehow. Maybe it was because she felt like she had such a strong, deep connection to him and Lucie already.

"You must be so proud of her," Sybil said quietly, bringing her coffee to her lips. "Not just because of how brave she is. Lucie's really amazing, Tom. So clever, so thoughtful..."

"I'm a lucky man," Tom agreed with a small smile.

They fell silent again, stirring their coffee and avoiding eye contact. Had she always been this awkward with patient's families before? She doubted it. Sybil tried again, "I'm sure you're worried-"

"Of course I'm worried," Tom answered evenly. "I worry about her twenty-four hours a day, Nurse Crawley. About all kinds of things. But I'm a father, and that's just what I do. I resolved myself to that fact a long time ago. But if you don't mind, I don't want to worry about Lucie right now. Let's talk about something else. Just for a change of pace." He gave her a weak smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I get like this sometimes. Just ask my friends. I get desperate for any kind of conversation that isn't about cancer."

"I understand," Sybil said immediately. "I understand perfectly. What would you like to talk about?"

Tom set down his cup and gazed at her a moment, as if sizing her up. Sybil tried not to blush under his stare. "Tell me why you decided to become a nurse," he said finally.

Sybil blinked, surprised and more than a little relieved. "Oh, that's easy," she said with a grin. "it was because of my nephew."

Tom looked intrigued, and Sybil quickly explained. "His name is George. He's about a year and a half older than Lucie. He was born about a month premature-not early enough to cause any major concerns, not really, but just early enough that they had to be careful and make sure he stayed in the hospital a few extra days. I stayed at the hospital with my sister and brother-in-law during the day, just in case they needed me, and while I was there I got to watch the nurses at work. They were amazing. They were the ones taking care of George, answering all of Mary and Matthew's questions...they made everything so easy for them. The doctors were great, too, I'm not saying that they didn't do their job, but...the nurses were just always there, always watching over their patients when the doctors were nowhere to be found. I was really inspired by them, how they do all the hard work but hardly ever get any of the glory, and by the time George was released from the hospital, I knew that's what I wanted to do. I walked into my adviser's office at uni, where I was studying literature, and dropped out the next day. A month later I was in nursing school."

"That's impressive."

"I just realized that where I needed to be was in here, helping people. Helping families-like yours."

Tom beamed at her, and Sybil swore her heart beat faster in her chest. They must be making the coffee stronger than usual. "Well, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. It's nurses like you that helped keep Lucie's spirits up during her chemo-and I can't even tell you how much she's loved having you as her nurse. She's already saying she doesn't want to go home because she won't get to see you every day."

"No, she's going to go home, because all of her scans are going to come back clean and you'll never have to set foot inside these doors again," Sybil said confidently. "But I answered one of your questions, Mr. Branson, so it's only fair that you answer one of mine."

"I wasn't aware that was the game we were playing."

"Well, it was. You asked me why I wanted to become a nurse, so now it's my turn: what made you want to become a writer?"

They went back and forth like that for a while, getting to know each other in a way that was never possible during the normal chaos of the day. Tom told her of growing up in Ireland and Sybil tried her best to make growing up at Downton Abbey seem as normal as possible, but she as certain she hadn't succeeded. She told him of Mary's life with Matthew and Edith's work as a journalist in New York, her most embarrassing moments in nursing school, the day when she realized that her father was finally proud of what she did for a living. Nothing was off-limits, every topic was on the table, and the more they talked the more comfortable they both became.

So when Sybil asked a question about Lucie's mother, she assumed that it would be all right.

Tom's smile immediately faded, and he sighed, not meeting her eyes anymore. Sybil mentally kicked herself. "I'm so sorry, Tom," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to get so personal. You don't have to answer if you don't want. I shouldn't have—I don't know what I was thinking…"

"No, it's all right," Tom said finally. "I don't know why I get so defensive about it. I think it's because Lucie got sick. If she was healthy, then nothing that my ex did would seem as bad. But then she was diagnosed, and…and suddenly everything just got so _hard_. Being a single dad is difficult enough, but a single parent with a sick child is…"

"Unfair," Sybil said softly.

"We met when I was still in university, Lucie's mother and I," Tom said, not commenting on Sybil's choice of words. "At a political rally at Trafalgar Square. She was completely mad—reckless, wild, everything I thought I wanted when I was twenty-one. We'd been dating for four months when she got pregnant with Lucie. My mam is pretty liberal about most things, but I was pretty sure that knowing that her youngest son had fathered a child out of wedlock would have killed her. But more than that, I knew what it was like to grow up without a dad, and I didn't want that for my child. I wanted to be there, to be part of it all, so I proposed. We got married a few months later, after I was done with uni. It was fun at first—the two of us living in this tiny flat in London. I felt more like a kid playing house than a father-to-be with a job and bills to pay and a pregnant wife. Maybe that was part of the problem, we just weren't ready. But I told myself that every new parent feels this way, that things would get better once the baby arrived. And at first, it did."

He took another sip of coffee before he continued. "It wasn't until Lucie was about four months old that I noticed that her mother wasn't taking to parenthood as easy as I was. I suggested she go in to talk to someone—my mam's a midwife, and I know about postpartum depression—but she insisted she was fine. She started staying out late, missing dinner, leaving me with Lucie. I wasn't sure what to do, even when she stayed away for days at a time and came back drunk out of her mind. I had friends to help out with Lucie when I needed them to, but she needed her mother…but her mother didn't want to be needed. She'd come home and promise to be better, spend a few weeks trying to be as devoted a mother as she could, and then disappear on us all over again. This went on for a year. In the end, she was completely out of control. I checked her into a rehab facility the day of Lucie's first birthday party."

"She was there for about six months, and when she came back she said that she wanted to try a trial separation. I said no, that Lucie needed her mother, and that the two of us were going to try to work things out for the sake of our daughter. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd said yes. Maybe things would have been easier. We weren't right for each other, you see. We didn't even love each other, not really. But I was just so angry at her for putting my little girl through this that…part of me wanted to punish her, to make her confront what she'd done instead of running off again. I wanted my daughter to have a family, but I didn't think of what the consequences of that might be."

"What happened next?" Sybil whispered.

He gave a shrug. "Nothing for about six months. After that? More late nights, more drinking, a string of boyfriends she didn't try to hide at all. I wanted to get her back into rehab, but she wouldn't go. We fought constantly when she was around, which wasn't often. In the end, she didn't care. She tried being a mother and found it didn't suit her. I think she was hoping Lucie would be like a doll, something she could put down and not have to deal with when she was tired of playing with her. She left for good when Lucie was almost three and a half. Ran off to Scotland with her boyfriend, dropped him like a hot potato when she met someone else in Glasgow, went traveling. For about a year she sent Lucie postcards and presents from all over—Nepal, Cambodia, Chile, the States. She'd even call us sometimes, ask to talk to Lucie. She could never stay in one place for very long. Maybe that's why we didn't work out, in the end. I kept trying to tie her down and she couldn't take it."

"Where is she now?" Sybil ventured.

"Mumbai, last I heard. Some kind of spiritual retreat. But we haven't heard from her since Lucie was diagnosed. Not a single word."

Sybil choked on her coffee. _"What?"_


End file.
